The Navy in peacetime and the Navy at
war are vastly different affairs. Officers who had been social lions and
ear marked for high rank in 1939 had been known to fail on the
battlefield; others who had spurned the niceties of the peace time service
and suffered for it were proving indomitable, and sometimes brilliant,
leaders in war. The Admiralty is probably the most rigidly disciplined of
the three Service departments; yet time and again it proves itself capable
of astonishingly human actions. Commanders-in-Chief are not responsible
merely for the destruction of the enemy with the fleets at their disposal.
They also keep a constant, vigilant watch over the health, behaviour,
cares and worries of their commanding officers. Sir Percy Noble had long
realised that in Commander Walker he had found one of the most keen and
efficient U-boat hunters in the Western Approaches Command. He knew also,
through that strange, invisible grapevine which reaches through mess decks
and staffs, that Walker could best be rewarded by early promotion.
Accordingly, he recommended to the Admiralty that the 3 Group’s Senior
Officer should be given immediately the rank of Captain. The Admiral had
another motive for this. Reports had reached him through Staff channels
that Walker, spending most of his sea time on Stork’s bridge from which he
could instantly control any given emergency, was showing signs of strain
and tiredness. He had summoned him to Derby House for an interview and had
noticed for himself that the quiet, modest officer burned inside like a
suppressed volcano when discussing the Atlantic battle. Tell-tale lines
were already tugging at his eyes. It was time for Walker to be rested
ashore, but it was obvious too that any attempt to tell him so and relieve
him for a trip would be strenuously resisted. If he were promoted he must
expect to be moved from Stork and might accept a shore job, no matter how
reluctantly, without realising he was actually being given a let-up. The
Admiralty agreed with Sir Percy’s recommendation and threw in a reward of
its own. When the half-yearly promotion lists were issued in July,
Walker’s name headed the list of commanders promoted to captain, thereby
cancelling out the pre-war report from Valiant which had criticised him.
The citation read: “For leadership and skill in
action against enemy submarines.” Soon after this promotion,
Sir Percy sent for his Chief of Staff Commodore Mansfield, and said:
“Walker’s
promotion and seniority now makes it necessary to make some changes.
Therefore I suggest we take the opportunity to rest him by appointing him
Captain (D) for about six months. He should go back to sea by the spring
of next year.”

Unaware of the real reason for his
transfer ashore, this promotion brought disappointment to Walker. He saw
the logic of the new appointment but was hardly content to sit behind a
desk reading the exploits of the Western Approaches in their Battle
Reports. When breaking the news to Eilleen, he said: “The Admiralty have only themselves to blame if I
make a damned awful Captain (D)—which I shall.” He took over
his new job in October and immediately opened a two-pronged attack on the
Admiralty and the Commander-in-Chief, one for a less cautious and more
offensive approach to the Battle of the Atlantic, and the second to
persuade Their Lordships that he should be sent back to sea in the small
ships he had come to regard as his second home. He sent for Eilleen who
gave up her job and they found “The White House”, South Road, Liverpool,
which became their home for the remainder of the war, and his life. His
tall, spare figure with the gaunt, weather-tanned face became as familiar
among the shopping crowds of the port as it was in the dockyards,
inspecting ships, advising their commanders and sorting out the complex
problems of getting old ships refitted, new ones launched and secret
equipment installed in ships waiting to sail. At Derby House, he analysed
reports of convoy battles, handled personnel problems by the thousand,
recommended officers and men for awards and sent for others to be quietly
and politely burned by the “bottles of acid” that became the standard
reward for slovenly behaviour or indecision in action. Commanding officers
learned that it was decisiveness that counted with Captain (D). He could
not tolerate a dithering officer but would always help and advise those
whose decisions had been near to disastrous. On a few occasions, he was
invited to wardroom celebration parties and it was then that his gayer,
more relaxed, side appeared in the intimacy of a close professional
circle. He had always been keen on physical exercise and keeping fit
generally, he took cold baths winter and summer, and he could stand on his
head almost indefinitely, drinking a glass of beer.
At Christmas, Walker gave the first of his few wartime lectures. It was on
a subject he believed in passionately and which he considered a number of
reservist commanding officers should know more about. “Leadership comes
very much easier to those of strong personality, commanding presence, but
don’t fall into the mistake of thinking these things are essential. They
are not. Nelson and Napoleon were both little squirts and Hitler is in my
opinion a figure of fun. Yet Napoleon led a whole nation for some years
all over Europe to eventual defeat and Hitler is doing the same thing now.
“There is a distinction between leadership and discipline. An utterly
undisciplined rabble was successfully led to storm the Bastille in
1789—leadership without discipline. Conversely, I have watched a
magnificently disciplined body of Royal Marines in a big ship expending
foot-tons of energy in trivial exercises—discipline without leadership. A
well-led ship’s company can be recognised in any emergency by their ready
and intelligent anticipation of orders and the absence of confusion and
shouting.” Unconsciously, perhaps, he was drawing upon his own
experience in command. It was against the wasting of “foot tons of energy”
that he had rebelled in big ships before the war. Similarly, he could not
really care how a sailor dressed at sea or whether his hair was cut to the
required length, so long as he was keen, efficient and trustworthy in his
job. On morale, he dealt mainly from his own experiences quoting examples
from Stork and current cases he was dealing with at Derby House.

“I have seen a good many
leave-breakers, ship jumpers, drunks, etc.,” he said. “I have a standard
speech for them. I tell them what stinking skunks they are for helping the
German war effort, doing their little best to lose the Battle of the
Atlantic, miserably failing their country in her hour of need. Most of
them are shaken to the core by it, some even burst into tears. You must
get home to your men that there is no excuse for leave-breaking, that it
is not merely playing truant from school, but letting their mates down
badly. If a wife is ill or having a baby, the man must realise that his
duty to his country comes before his duty to his family. Another
cause of low morale is the difference in pay between the sailor and the
dockyard and factory workers ashore. Rub in the honour of being picked for
the finest fighting team in the world, and that the country would have
been in German hands long ago but for that team and his part in it.”

Some weeks before, Timothy had written
asking his father to help him transfer to submarines. Walker had pulled a
few minor strings and at Christmas his son, now a sub-lieutenant RNVR,
came home to Liverpool on leave prior to attending a submarine course at
Blyth. Nicholas was also on leave, and Gillian had taken a job at a garage
to learn something about driving before joining the Wrens. As Timmy had
been in Rome when Andrew was born, this meant that the family was
re-united for the first time. One night during the festivities, Eilleen
wakened and heard a slight noise outside her bedroom. She slipped out of
bed, opened the door and to her astonishment saw a workman’s brazier
glowing redly on the landing and, in front of it, a large red-painted
signpost saying “ROAD CLOSED”. She returned
to the bedroom, shook Johnnie awake and told him what she had seen.
“Nicholas,” he muttered sleepily. “I’ll deal with him in the morning.”
Then he turned over and went to sleep again, leaving Eilleen prey to such
thoughts as a mother might have at 2 a.m. with a brazier burning
enthusiastically on her landing. At breakfast next morning, Nicholas and
Gillian glanced apprehensively at their father who continued to sip his
coffee in silence. He finished a second cup and lit a cigarette. before
looking at Nicholas and saying abruptly: “Put it back.” He walked out
leaving consternation behind him. It had not seemed such a bad idea to
remove the brazier after a party at night; but to put it back in cold
blood during daylight was another matter. Yet family discipline was such
that after dusk that evening, two heavily-laden figures slunk furtively
through the streets towards the river. A splash in the Mersey covered
their trail and the incident was closed. Walker’s reputation as a fighting
captain and a relentless administrator was so well known that when Admiral
Sir Max Horton took over the Western Approaches from Sir Percy Noble, who
was being sent to Washington for liaison duties, one of the first officers
he asked to see was Captain (D). It was to be one of many meetings and, by
the time Walker returned to sea, Sir Max Horton had set his standard of
efficiency for the Command on the level of this captain. More important to
Walker, he found the new Commander-in-Chief sympathetic to his ideas for
more positive action in the Atlantic Battle. He set seriously to work on a
paper campaign directed at both the Admiral and the Admiralty to convince
them that the U-boat war could not be won by escorts huddled round convoys
and waiting for the enemy. In a series of memoranda, he stressed the need
for special groups to roam the Atlantic freely in search of the enemy.
Coastal Command, he said, were increasing the number of their aircraft
and, as a result, air co-operation was being improved and extended right
across the Bay of Biscay, up to Iceland and over to Greenland. Now was the
time for sloops and destroyers to revert to their traditional roles of
seeking out and destroying the enemy. He pointed to dockyards round the
country where new ships were nearing completion and urged that these
should be used to form the new striking forces, or hunting groups. During
one discussion with Sir Max Horton, the latter asked: “And where would you
suggest these hunting groups would find the enemy?” “In my view we should
seek them out on their own doorstep, the Bay of Biscay, and the
mid-Atlantic where they are also vulnerable because they feel safe.”

“That’s around the ‘Chop’ Line Area,”
said Sir Max. (The Atlantic was divided down the
middle by the “Chop” Line. To the west of “Chop” the Americans had
control, east of “Chop” was Britain’s responsibility.) “Without
aircraft you might spend days not sighting a damn thing. You would need to
take a carrier, and I doubt if we could afford to risk them in that kind
of operation.” Curiously, although he agreed with Walker on almost every
point in the general plan, the Commander-in-Chief refused to add his
endorsement on the question of aircraft-carriers. But, at the Admiralty,
this was no problem. Small carriers were being built in considerable
numbers and the war at sea was becoming the pivot of all other military
operations. Sir Max went to London for a series of conferences and, by
February, Walker’s ideas were substantially approved. They were not his
alone. Other senior officers had contributed the basis of much of the
overall plan and little could have been done without the help of Sir Max
Horton. But it was Walker’s persistence and energy that pushed it through.
He received forceful backing from Naval Intelligence who compiled reports
from numerous sources into composite monthly surveys of the Battle of the
Atlantic for the private use of the War Cabinet, Board of the Admiralty
and certain departmental heads, such as the Director of Anti-Submarine
Warfare and the Commander-in Chief of the various shore and sea-going
commands. The Survey for January, 1943, was hardly encouraging. “Now that
Grand Admiral Doenitz is Supreme Commander of the German Navy,” said the
Intelligence Report, “we may expect all units to operate in support of the
U-boat war and we shall be on the look-out for any indication of a change
of policy. It is certainly going to be a grim fight in 1943 and though we
are not as ready as we would like to be, there have been plenty of
examples late in 1942 to demonstrate that even with our present inadequate
air and surface escorts, with good training and team work it is possible
to fight a convoy through a pack of U-boats and give as good as we get.”
( Intelligence was referring to Walker’s defence of
convoy HG 76) For March and February the Reports were equally, if
not slightly more, cheerless. “Never before has the enemy displayed
such singlemindedness of purpose in utilising his strength against one
objective, the interruption of supplies from America to Great Britain. As
a result, engagements were embittered and successes against U-boats high.
“The months ahead are critical and the outcome of the struggle is by no
means sure.” It was at this vital period that Walker persuaded Sir Max
Horton to let him return to the struggle.

HMS Starling

He was appointed Captain of a new sloop,
Starling, and senior officer of the now famous Atlantic striking force
known as the Second Support Group consisting of five other sloops of the
same class, Wild Goose, Wren, Kite, Cygnet and Woodpecker. There was no
conflict in his mind over leaving his family again. He knew his wife would
never attempt to hold him back even if she could. For Eilleen, his return
to sea meant going back to the long days and weeks of waiting she had come
to share with thousands of naval wives throughout the country, never quite
certain what the next telegram or BBC announcement would bring. She still
suffered from a recurrent illness, but she were troubled in any way,
Johnnie was not allowed to see it. Her patient restraint when her husband
was ashore did not escape him. He knew she was calling on all resources of
mind and body to appear cheerful at times when she must have felt more
like crying. Before leaving the office of Captain (D), Walker proposed to
broadcast a message to all Navy wives. This was accepted by• the BBC and
then quashed by the Admiralty who feared it might tend to convey to the
world that we had so many deserters and leave breakers that we had to
appeal to their women to help. In fact, Walker wanted the help of the Navy
wives and sweethearts, not because of deserting, they were too few cases
to worry about, but because he wished these women to realise how important
they were in maintaining the morale of the fighting men. He considered
they were as vital to the war effort as anyone in the factories. Today,
many of those women who were sweethearts are wives now, and a great number
of the wives have become mothers. For some nostalgic memories may return
at this brief excerpt from Captain Walker’s message.

“We sailors all know that beastly
moment when leave is over and how it would be tempting to seize on some
trivial excuse to stay a little longer. I am glad to say that most wives
see to it that their husbands return to their ships in good time. I have
this to say to those who have wavered. Never forget your influence on your
man and keep him up to the mark. Send him back from leave itching to get
at Hitler’s throat, not unhappy, worried and anxious about his home. Your
paramount duty is to help your husband or son or sweetheart to grind the
Nazi face back into the dirt from which it sprang.”

Soon after handing over office to his
relief, Walker put in a request that with only a few exceptions the whole
crew, officers and men, of Stork should be appointed to Starling. Most of
them had been paid off from Stork when she passed into dock yard hands,
and were now on leave. Telegrams went out from Derby House ordering as
many as were available to report to Fairfield’s Dockyard near Glasgow to
stand-by Job Number SL 197. Fairfield’s was soon working overtime. Job
Number SL 197, an embryo ship which by the end of March, was to become the
sloop-of-war, HMS Starling, was not only needed urgently by the Admiralty,
but even more so by Captain John Walker whose letter to the management
left them in no doubt at all of the fate awaiting them if the ship were
delayed in any way. For the next two weeks, SL 197 was the focal point for
hundreds of workers. Riveters clattered and chattered their deafening way
along the hull; welders’ lamps hissed defiance at the daily drizzle;
railway goods wagons clanged alongside, shunted there by noisily officious
engines; towering cranes trundled crazily up and down in whining unison,
their giraffe-like arms swaying drunkenly skywards. The bare-ribbed
carcass of rusting metal became a red paint-splotched shell stuffed daily
with engines and instruments of war, while bits of superstructure appeared
round a stumpy, grotesque mast. Keeping wondering eyes on this magical
transformation of jumbled confusion of scrap metal into the recognisable
shape of a ship were Lieutenant Impey, former asdic officer of Stork,
Lieutenant John Filleul, RN, and Sub-Lieutenant Alan Burn, RNVR
(author of The Fighting Captain), a newcomer
to the Walker entourage. As “stand-by” officers waiting for the time to
walk aboard, they lived in a hotel ashore by night and in a tiny wooden
hut in the Yard by day. They did not quite know what would emerge from the
muddy inferno job Number SL197. Filleul, newly promoted, was overjoyed at
his appointment to the embryo Starling. Ever since he had sailed in Stork
and returned from the fierce, drawn-out defence of convoy HG 84, he had
become a fervent support of his captain. While on leave, he had received
the telegram appointing him to Starling. Next he learned that most of
Stork’s crew were also being transferred at the request of their new
commanding officer.

During the long evenings ashore waiting
for SL 197 to become a ship with a name, Filleul told stories of Stork and
Walker to Alan Burn, a stocky, square-faced recent arrival to Western
Approaches Command who had heard of his new commanding officer and
imagined him a stickler for discipline and not at all likely to tolerate
mistakes a reservist officer might be expected to make, particularly from
such a key department head as the Gunnery Officer. At last came March
21st, Commissioning Day, and those key officers and ratings who had
watched a ship grow from the tangled chaos of Fairfield’s gazed in
wonderment again at the sleek, newly-painted warship with bristling guns
and business like equipment giving her the appearance of a healthy warrior
impatiently waiting for the order that would fling him into the line. To
Walker, this day meant a long-delayed return to the Atlantic battlefield.
He knew some of the faces confronting him on the quarter deck as he
addressed the ship’s company. On brief acquaintance with those officers he
had met for the first time, he was satisfied there would be no hitches to
prevent the working-up trials being cut shorter than usual. He was
particularly pleased that Lieutenant Impey, RN, his asdic officer in
Stork, had been sent to Starling as First Lieutenant. His Commission
Speech was short, most of these men knew what he wanted of them, and after
the officers had exchanged handshakes with the Yard superintendents the
bo’sun’s mate piped: “Secure for sea. All hands prepare for leaving
harbour. Sea-duty men to their stations.”
A few minutes later, the engines throbbed alive and H.M.Starling, at last
a ship with a name instead of a number, sailed down the Clyde on her
maiden voyage to the Western Approaches. Hundreds of workers lined the
docksides to wave and tout “good luck”, for they were as proud of the ship
as the crew who now sailed in her. While steaming down the Clyde they
received a general signal from Commander-in-Chief, Western Approaches, to
all units in the Command saying it was intended to operate five support
Groups over the North Atlantic convoy routes, and initial Groups would
proceed to sea on March 2 These 3uld remain under operational control of
C-in-C Western Approaches regardless of “Chop”. The officers of Starling
now received some idea of what their duties were to be. Walker already
knew, but his eye was fixed on the Bay. He would go along with the plan to
support the convoy escorts for the moment, but his main target for the
future operations was Biscay itself. For the next ten days it was trials,
exercises, exercises and trials for the crew of Starling. From the first
Captain Walker made it clear to officers and men that their job in the war
was to sink U-boats, and everything was directed to achieve the highest
possible competence in this art; day and night this simple idea of “kill
the Boche before he kills you” drove Starlings crew to semi-exhaustion
until one day they sailed from Liverpool, a confident, keen fighting unit
ready for war, impatient to get into the battlefield to seek out and
destroy the enemy.

Left to Right: Wild Goose,
Wren, Kite, Cygnet & Woodpecker

At the end of April, they received their
orders. The other five ships of the Second Support Group, Wild Goose,
Wren, Kite, Cygnet and Woodpecker, had completed their training and were
to meet their leader off Londonderry whence they were to proceed to the
mid-Atlantic. The strategic plan to harry the U-boat on their doorstep and
in their happiest hunting ground along the mid-Atlantic “Chop” Line was
about to be launched. The Second Support Group became a striking force on
April 8th when the six sloops left the Western Approaches bound for the
Atlantic deepfield where, free from troublesome aircraft, the U-boats lay
in wait for the convoys. Added to Walker’s satisfaction at being on his
own bridge again, was the pleasure of knowing that in command of Wild
Goose was his old friend, Commander D. E. G. Wemyss. In his first tour of
the Battle of the Atlantic, Walker had been a convoy escort drawing the
enemy like a magnet. Now he was looking for trouble wherever it could be
found. After two days’ steaming he was ordered to take his Group to assist
a convoy inward bound from Halifax, Nova Scotia, which was being
hard-pressed by a U-boat “wolf pack”.

The Group made contact the following evening and spread themselves in a
wide circle round both convoy and its close escort, acting as scouts to
keep shadowing U-boats down where their slow speed would soon give the
convoy a chance to draw ahead out of the trap. For the next three nights
there were a series of alarms which gave the six sloops little more
satisfaction than the chance to work together for the first time as a
unit. Walker kept them in hunting formation exercises, both by day and
night, giving the commanding officers the opportunity to learn his methods
of handling six ships as one. In each ship, individual drills ironed out
the dockyard faults and accustomed the crew to new equipment. In Starling,
small defects became apparent with monotonous regularity and both officers
and men expended a more than usual amount of blood, sweat and bad language
before Walker announced with some irony that he might yet turn them into a
crew fit to go to war. Alan Burn felt there was some justification for his
captain’s attitude when, during a practice shoot, he gave the order “Open
Fire”, and instead of the deafening crack of the four- inch twin guns
exploding into flame, there was a painful and deathly silence. The text
book said that, before taking any further action, he should order “Cease
Fire”. So, controlling his mounting anger at this strange inefficiency
from his department, he shouted down the telephone to all guns:

“Cease Firing.” Immediately, the guns roared into action sending a salvo
of shells hurtling over the grey Atlantic. From his action station on the
bridge, Burn turned hesitantly and with some embarrassment to see how
Walker had received this tendency of his gunnery people instantly to
reverse orders, and was astonished to find his captain and the first
lieutenant chuckling. On the fourth night, the Group left the convoy to
take up its patrol where Walker exercised them again and again in zigzag
and hunting manoeuvres and in drills designed to meet any emergency.
Officers of the Watch found life anything but peaceful with a captain who
might suddenly interrupt a peaceful afternoon by throwing a lifebuoy
overboard and shouting: “That’s a man overboard. Pick him up without
lowering the boat.” When this tricky piece of ship handling had been
accomplished, Walker would order: “Tell all ships to fire a depth charge
set to a hundred feet.” He would time each ship and send rudely
informative signals to those he considered had taken too long to get their
charges away. At night, he would liven up proceedings by suddenly telling
the Officers of the Watch: “U-boat on the starboard bow. Illuminate it
with starshell.” If there were any delay, the officer was left in no doubt
of what Walker thought of him. This was a favourite test and took place in
nearly every watch, for Walker hoped that U-boats would see the starshell
and come rushing towards him to find out what was happening. He varied it
by leaving the bridge and, while passing through the wheelhouse below,
ordered the helmsman to put the wheel hard over one way or the other and
report to the Officer of the Watch that it had jammed. He waited and timed
the hapless officer’s reactions. Gradually, the officers grew to
anticipate these “stunt” alarms and a friendly rivalry sprang up in the
wardroom to see who could react the quickest. This mood passed down to the
men, and the gun crews or depth-charge crew of each watch would gloat
wickedly over an unfortunate team which had carried out a drill only a
fraction of a second slower. In this way, the dirt of the dockyard fell
away from Starling and, at the end of this first uneventful voyage, the
guns could fire salvoes of six rounds in thirty seconds and the
depth-charge crews could fire a pattern of ten charges in fifteen seconds.
The First Lieutenant maintained acidly that these were rotten
performances, although Walker grinned his satisfaction. Confidence ran
through the mess decks like a smooth, vintage wine and bubbled over into
keen inter ship rivalry uniting the Group in a burning determination to
come to grips with the enemy.

Early in the morning of May 12th, the
Group were steaming off Northern Ireland on their way to Liverpool. The
most excited officer in Starling was John Filleul. If there were time
before they sailed again he intended to marry a girl who, having said
“Yes”, now waited in Bournemouth for him to say when the Navy could spare
him for those few days necessary to organise the ceremony and a brief
honeymoon. Then Walker took a hand. It was a strict rule that no ship at
sea should break wireless silence except in clearly defined circumstances,
one of which gave commanding officers a measure of discretion, and leaders
of Groups even a little more. As captain of Starling and Leader of the
Second Support Group, he used this discretion. He sent a wireless signal
addressed to Captain (D), Liverpool, requesting that Miss Wendy Taylor in
Bournemouth be informed that her fiancé was due in harbour that evening.
She should proceed immediately with arrangements for the earliest possible
wedding. By the time Filleul telephoned her in the evening, she had the
situation under control. The wedding went off without a hitch next morning
followed by a three days’ honeymoon. In Liverpool, Captain Walker found
his Commander-in-Chief, who had received a copy of the signal, unwilling
to condone his use of personal discretion in breaking wireless silence for
a private and domestic reason. If he was temporarily in hot water, Walker
did not mind. It was more important that his officers and men should be
happy at home, in his view the root of fighting efficiency at sea. Four
days later they sailed again to act as a striking force along the northern
convoy routes, clearing the shipping lanes of patrolling U-boats in wait
to intercept our east and west bound convoys. June 1st dawned clear and
sunny. The grey Atlantic had for once stopped heaving and lay placid and
oily under a hot sun shining brilliantly from a blue, cloudless sky. The
900 men of the Second Support Group threw aside their salt-caked duffle
coats, damp sweaters and woollen socks for clean white singlets and
uniform trousers. In Starling there was little to disturb the peaceful
calm of such an unexpectedly glorious day. The sea rushed quietly past the
bows in frivolous curling waves; an occasional clanking of buckets came
from the decks where sailors were washing down paintwork; from the gun
platform in front of and below the bridge came the steady hum of
conversation as the crews on watch stripped and examined the mechanism.
The elements had called a truce, Neptune was on holiday and Starling could
relax. To Alan Burn, the Officer of the Watch, it seemed more like a
summer’s day on a vicarage lawn. “You know, John,” said he blissfully, “I
can almost hear the sound of tennis rackets hitting the ball over the net
and see myself having tea on the lawn accompanied by the drone of wasps
and bees. Marvellous thought.”

Suddenly, a telephone buzzer blared
urgently. Burn sprang to the receiver. "What is it?” “Submarine on the
surface transmitting on bearing 225 degrees. Must be about twenty miles
away, Sir.” It was the HF/DF operator reporting that his set was
intercepting a U-boat chattering either to its base or another colleague.
Burn snapped out his order. “Port fifteen . . . midships . . . steady . .
. steer 225. Full speed ahead both.” He turned to the voice pipe reaching
down to the captain’s sea cabin. “Captain, Sir.” “Yes, what is it?” came
the muffled reply. “Submarine on the surface reported by HF/DF.” “Right.”
In a few seconds, Walker was on the bridge, checking the orders given by
Alan and sending signals to the Group. The six ships were reformed in line
abreast on their new course along the bearing of the U-boat, steaming at
full speed. The tempo in Starling changed swiftly. She vibrated violently
as the engines raced and thousands of fittings began to throb in protest.
Walker turned to Burn. “Sound Action Stations.” To the Yeoman of Signals:
“Make to the Group: keep station on me. Course 225, speed 18 knots, ships
to be four miles apart.” As he spoke, the alarm bells clanged through the
ship and in seconds the decks were filled with seamen in every state of
dress, or undress, dashing to their action stations. A lamp blinked from
Wild Goose and the Yeoman read out: “Have picked up U-boat on HF/DF
bearing 228.” Just then Starling’s HF/DF officer
reported the U-boat still talking on a bearing 225. The navigator quickly
ran off the two nearly parallel lines on his chart and placed the enemy
between fifteen and twenty miles away. It was their first smell of the
enemy since leaving the builders’ yard. Walker noted in his Diary: “I
fixed the U-boat’s position using bearings from Starling and Wild Goose.
The date was June 1st, the Christian name of my HF/DF officer was Howe,
asdic conditions were perfect, all these things promised well.” At 10.15,
look-outs in Starling sighted a swirl of water and, almost at once, her
asdic team picked up an echo that was unmistakably a submarine.

CHAPTER 8 - BLOCKADE

Twelve months earlier, on May 27th,
1942, a lithe, fair-haired young officer had been ushered into the private
office of Admiral Doenitz at U-boat headquarters in Lorient. He was
Kapitanleutnant Hans Linder, commanding officer of the new 500 ton
submarine, U-202, and he had been summoned to a briefing for a secret
mission. “This job is going to take a lot of nerve and cool judgment,
Linder,” Doenitz said. “Your navigation will have to be exact. One mistake
might cost the lives of you all and, whatever the cost, you must not lose
your boat or your crew. Is that clear ?" Linder nodded. ‘Right. You are to
take four secret agents with their equipment to the American coast and
land them on Long Island, New Jersey. The actual spot is the beach at
Amagansett. You should put them ashore on June 13th and in any event not
later than the 15th. Those dates coincide with the new moon which you will
need for an approach so close inshore, although you must risk being
sighted by some wide-awake coastguard. Remember, the safety of your boat
and your crew comes before the lives of the four spies.” “I understand,
Sir,” replied Linder excitedly. “When do I sail? “The passengers join you
to-day. You sail to-morrow.” "Yes, Sir.” Linder saluted and returned to
his boat to prepare for the voyage. When Linder took U-202 to sea next
day, he did not know he was in the van of a determined German effort to
invade the United States with fifteen highly trained saboteurs and
intelligence agents whose mission was to organise a nation-wide espionage
network. The same afternoon, U-584 sailed with five more spies bound for
Jacksonville while another U-boat was embarking six others to be landed
near Boston. The last group never sailed, but nine agents were already on
their way across the Atlantic. This special mission, planned by German
Military Intelligence and given the code name “Operation Pastorius”, was
designed to establish secret wireless communication between Germany and
America; to provide the nucleus of a spy organisation responsible for
supplying general intelligence; to set up a secret saboteur school which
would supervise the blowing up of vital military establishments; and to
infiltrate into those circles best calculated to be of use in undermining
the morale of the people.

The
agents were volunteers chosen because they had intimate knowledge of the
United States, having lived there or visited the country before the war.
One claimed to have lived in New York throughout the First World War,
operating as a German spy. But while waiting for the U-boat arm to carry
them across the Atlantic, several had consumed too much French wine at
Lorient and loosened tongues revealed their real purpose in volunteering.
At least three said they intended to give themselves up to the United
States Police and spend the remainder of the war in the comparative luxury
of a POW camp, apparently preferring this to the Russian front. Reports of
their behaviour reached Doenitz who was angered at the thought of risking
valuable U-boats for the sake of transporting such characters. In a signal
to Berlin, he said: “There is every evidence that the special agents are
not activated by patriotic motives but rather by adventurous spirits and a
desire to seek refuge in the United States. I request ‘Operation
Pastorius’ be considered in this light because we cannot on any
account risk unduly and with little chance of reward the loss of the
submarine involved in their transportation.”
(Admiralty Intelligence, or as we now know, more likely Beltchley Park - Enigma)
Military intelligence, however, had spent many months and plenty of money
in training the saboteur force and was not to be swayed by a “lay” report
from Lorient. Doenitz was ordered to proceed with the operation as
planned. Having given instructions to U-202 and
U-584, he managed to effect
a compromise by seizing on slight engine trouble in the third U-boat to
postpone her sailing for so long that the six agents had their orders
cancelled. On board U-202, her four passengers changed into civilian
clothes labelled with the name of a well-known New York department store.
They carried forged papers and passports, and each was equipped with a
brief case into which was stowed explosives in the shape of
highly-inflammable “stick” grenades and various parts of two wireless
transmitting and receiving sets. Between them they carried 5,000 dollars,
a list of “sympathetic addresses” and the names of hotels suitable for
visitors who wanted to remain as inconspicuous as possible.
Linder made the crossing on the surface, when out of range of air patrols,
and submerged on approaching the United States coast. On the evening of
June 13th he lay at periscope depth off the entrance to Long Island Sound
in New York harbour. It was a brilliant summer’s day and the sun went down
reluctantly. The four spies took it in turns to look through the periscope
at passing ships and chuckled among themselves as they joked with the
U-boat’s crew about what they would do on their first night ashore as
self-appointed members of the American community. According to one member
of the crew: “Our passengers seemed to have been told in Berlin that every
American girl looked like a Hollywood film star and would be easier to
pick up than a French harlot.” Darkness fell shortly before 11 pm and
Linder surfaced for the approach towards the coast. Apart from the new
moon, navigation was made easy by the bright lights ashore reflecting on
the water and at midnight they were close enough to hear the blaring of
car horns and the strains of dance music. Silently, a rubber dinghy was
lowered into the water from the foredeck and the four spies, waving
good-bye to the officers on the conning tower, took their places while
three of Linder’s sailors rowed them ashore. They landed on
Amagansett
beach at exactly thirty minutes after midnight, picked up their brief
cases, and, after shaking hands with the sailors, vanished across the
beach into the dark hinterland of the American continent. At almost the
same moment, five of their colleagues were landed on a beach near
Jacksonville, from U-584 (Both groups ran into
coastal patrols and were arrested. All nine were charged with espionage
and six were sent to the electric chair. The remaining three received life
imprisonment).

When his
rubber dinghy had been safely hauled inboard, Linder let out a deep breath
of relief and muttered aloud: “Thank heaven that’s over.” He turned U-202
seawards for the safety of open sea; but two minutes later the U-boat
shuddered and the crew were shocked into near-panic by a horrible grating
noise which seemed to echo through the night. U- was stuck hard and fast
on a sandbank on an ebb tide. Despite continued frantic efforts to refloat
her during the night, she remained firmly embedded. Linder sent a signal
to Lorient informing Doenitz that he had successfully carried out his
mission but could not return and had prepared to surrender his men to
imprisonment. Then he instructed the crew to set scuttling charges, and
settled down to await daylight. At the first greyness of dawn they heard
again the loud blaring of car horns; dogs barked and cocks crowed.
Luckily, although on the surface, they were hidden by a heavy mist which
lay over the sea blotting out the coastline. Gradually the tide turned and
began to flow strongly. At 5 am the boat shifted slightly. Linder ordered
the crew to sea stations and put both engines astern at full power. Slowly
the U-boat moved over the sand, quivering as the propellers gripped the
water and strained to pull her clear. Suddenly, the bows shot up and she
surged backwards, clear at last. Still cloaked by the mist, Linder headed
seawards and made good his escape. (The incident was
told to Naval Intelligence Officers, who interrogated the survivors of
U-202; and was confirmed by captured documents). This mission
cracked Linder’s nerve and, on return to Brest, he was relieved by
Kapitanleutnant Gunter Poser, who became commanding officer of one of
Doenitz’s most favoured U-boats. Under Poser, U-202 made five more
voyages, sinking a total of 50,000 tons of Allied shipping before sailing
from Brest on April 29th, 1943 on her ninth trip of the war. She was to
patrol in the vicinity of the northern convoy routes in mid- Atlantic.
During May she was bombed by aircraft, chased by escorts and made several
abortive attacks on convoys. Poser, aged twenty-seven, and fairly
quick-witted, was a capable captain but a lazy one. He failed to press
home his attacks, preferred to lie in wait for targets rather than look
for them, and spent most of his time at sea lying on his bunk reading and
dozing. On May 2 he was ordered to return to Brest to take fuel on board
before sailing to Kiel for a refit. Thankfully, he headed U-202for the Bay
of Biscay and began planning his leave. In her thirty days at sea, U-202
had been bombed three times, had dived for twenty-nine aircraft alarms and
had been chased five times by escorts. At 10 am on June 1st, a chief petty
officer acting as Officer of the Watch sighted mastheads which he took to
belong to a convoy. He reported to Poser, who was lying on his bunk, and
was told to take U-202 closer to the convoy. Eventually, Poser decided to
look for himself. On the conning tower he glanced through his binoculars
and went suddenly rigid. “My God,” he shouted. “I can’t see any merchant
ships, only destroyers. Sound diving stations.” Klaxons clattered through
the U-boat and within seconds she was diving to 500 feet. Poser ordered
all machinery except the electric lighting generators and engines to be
shut down and waited hopefully for the destroyers to pass overhead. He
could not be expected to know that he had not seen destroyers, but the
sloops of the Second Support Group, already sweeping with their Asdics.
And in Starling, the asdic officer, Lieutenant Impey, had already
reported: “In contact, Sir.”

As he rapped out orders to be signalled to the Group, Walker seemed to
come alive with an energy and drive quite new to the old hands from the
Stork days. They remembered the grin on his face at the first signs of
battle; they remembered the light of sheer joy in his eyes at the prospect
of a “kill”; now there was a tenseness about him as though he were trying
to steer the asdic on to the target by will power alone. He stood behind
the compass, completely at home in this struggle, his mind racing ahead to
anticipate the evasive tactics his opponent might use. Concern about a
possible enemy counter-attack never entered Walker’s head. “Yeoman, tell
Cygnet, Woodpecker and Wren to maintain square patrol at two miles and
Wild Goose and Kite to stand by in the outfield to support my attack.” He
turned to the asdic officer. “Going in to attack now.” His orders to the
wheelhouse for full speed were made quietly. Starling surged forward,
pulsating with power and her bows cutting foaming waves through the placid
sea, her wide white- edged wake vanishing almost imperceptibly into the
glassy, even breathing of the swell astern. The “ping” of the asdic beam
echoing from the hull of U-202 came faster as the range shortened. “Stand
by depth charges . . .“: a second later . . . “FIRE”. Tons of high
explosives rolled from the stern rails and were shot from throwers on
either side of the quarter deck to curve gracefully into the air. In all,
ten charges were rumbling downwards through the water heading for the
hidden enemy. For a few seconds there was silence. Then miles of ocean and
the waiting stoops shook and quivered under the blasting as the charges
went off in a series of deafening, crackling roars. Huge columns of water
boiled to the surface and sprayed out into vast fountains astern of
Starling. The great cascades of water subsided, leaving spreading
whirlpools to mark the position of the attack. But there was no U-boat.
Walker settled down to the struggle. His adversary was proving tough to
hold and hard to find; he admired an enemy who refused to be panicked into
some desperate folly that would lead to easy and swift destruction. He
took Starling out for half a mile and turned to regain contact. Next, he
ordered Wild Goose and Kite to join him while the other three sloops kept
up their patrol ready to pick up the U-boat should she shake off her
attackers. Five hundred feet below, the crew of U-202 picked them selves
up from the corners into which they had been flung by the force of the
depth-charges. Everything movable had been smashed; the lights had failed,
and a small leak had appeared in the stern. They had been saved by the
inaccuracies of the depth-charge mechanism which had been set to 350 and
550 feet but had probably exploded fifty feet either way. Poser began to
wonder if this was an attack he could escape and, for the first time, the
crew thought it likely that they would have been better off had they
surrendered off the beach at Amagansett a year before. Poser turned to his
engineer and ordered: “Take her up to 400.”

During Starling’s working-up trials, Walker had devised a depth-charge
barrage attack for use against U-boats believed to be hugging extreme
depths for safety. The plan, known as “Operation Plaster”, called for
three ships in close line abreast to drop depth charges set to 550 feet at
five-second intervals. Now he signalled Wild Goose and Kite to close in on
either side of Starling and the three ships steamed forwards over the
“pinged” position of the U-boat dropping a continuous stream of depth
charges. It was the naval equivalent of the artillery barrage that
precedes an infantry attack. The sea heaved and boiled under the non-stop
impact of the explosions. Twisting and turning and always leaving a trail
of charges, the ships “plastered” the area of U-2o2. In three minutes a
total of seventy-six depth charges had rocked and shaken the attacking
ships almost as much as it had the U-boat. Poser, hearing the first of the
barrage explode beneath him, at first thought his hunters outwitted. After
minutes of continuous shuddering blasts threatening to blow out every
rivet, he decided to dive as deep as U-202 could go. He gave his orders
calmly, while the sweat streamed down his face. “Slow ahead both engines"
“Diving" “Take her down slowly . . Tautly the control room crew watched
the depth gauge. How far down would she go; and could they get below the
rolling roar of depth charges? The engineer officer called out the
reading: “Five hundred . . 550 . . . 600 . . . 650 . . . 700.” That was
the limit she had taken on exercises. Much more, and she would crack under
the tremendous pressure. “Seven hundred and fifty feet . . The first
lieutenant muttered hoarsely into the silence. “For heaven’s sake, Sir,
she won’t take any more. Let’s stay here or surface and fight it out.
She’ll break up at any moment if we go further.” Poser ignored the plea
and went on staring rigidly at the controls, his mind concentrating on the
creaks and groans reverberating through the boat from the straining hull.
“Seven hundred and eighty . . . 800 . . . Now it was the engineer’s turn
to plead with his captain. “With the weight of water on top now, Sir, she
probably won’t go up. For the love of God, no further.” Still there was
silence from Poser. Above they could hear the dull explosions of the depth
charges cushioned by a gap of 300 feet of ocean. It was not the depth
charges that would worry them now: only that the U-boat would hold
together. “Eight hundred and twenty feet, Sir.” Poser snapped out a
command. “Level off and keep her trimmed at 820. Steer due north with
revolutions for three knots.” He left the control room abruptly and the
amazed crew saw him take off his jacket, collapse on his bunk and begin
reading. He called out to the first lieutenant. “Warn the crew to use as
little energy as possible and to talk only when necessary. The more we
conserve our air the longer we can stay down. The enemy might leave us
alone or lose us in a few hours.” There was little hope of that. Above,
Walker took Starling in for a second attack with charges set at 300 feet.
When this had little effect, he called in Wild Goose and Kite again and
the three ships set off on a second barrage attack. The only damage
inflicted was to blow Kite’s gyro compass out of action, and Walker sent
her into the outfield, bringing in Woodpecker to take her place.
Woodpecker carried out a single attack also without result and Walker
turned to the officers on Starling’s bridge. “Now we have established that
he isn’t too shallow, we can only assume he must be deeper than we
thought.” He made several test runs on asdic bearing and found he was
losing the echo each time at a range of seven hundred yards. This meant
the U-boat was deeper than 500 feet. “What I wouldn’t give,” he exclaimed
to all and sundry, “for a good and large charge capable of being set to
700 feet.” He had no idea at that time, neither had the Admiralty, that
U-boats could withstand the pressure of water at more than 800 feet. As
the day wore on, Walker maintained asdic contact in Starling and, using
the loudhailer, directed his Group into a series of attacks at speeds of
little more than five knots. Between attacks he did everything possible to
“rattle the U-boat into using up his batteries”. He carried out dummy
attacks at speed hoping the enemy would hear his fast revving propellers
and use up valuable battery power in taking avoiding action. Then he
ordered Kite to drop charges in the outfield to give the impression the
Group was drawing away on a false scent. Kapitanleutnant Poser was also
using every trick he knew. U-boats had been equipped with a device that
could be fired from torpedo tubes which caused a minor upheaval in the
water and sent huge bubbles upwards and gave off the same echo on an asdic
set as the U-boat itself. In this way it was hoped that the asdic “ping”
would receive an echo back from the device, which would be attacked and
the ships further led astray by the appearance of bubbles. They were known
as Submarine Bubble Targets, SBTs. Poser ordered them to be released every
few minutes throughout the day to hide his alterations of course. Walker
had a knack of knowing when his asdic operators were “pinging” off a
U-boat or an SBT Between 1030 am and 7 pm U-202 released seventy-six SBTs
but Starling and the Group were still in contact. “The U-boat,” Walker
wrote later, “was sitting pretty well out of reach and all our antics only
made him discharge the wretched SBTs. It was all most maddening, but the
laugh was very much on our side because not only were asdic conditions
perfect and the enemy could easily be held up to a mile, but I could
afford to wait for two days while Fritz obviously could not. In any event,
it was merely childish of him to try and palm off SBTs on my asdic team
and myself I decided that as he was obviously staying out of reach I would
wait until he had either exhausted his patience, his batteries or his high
pressure air.” By 8 pm Poser had taken several evasive turns quite
fruitlessly and attempted to distract his tormentors with more SBTs But
Walker was still in contact, with the remainder of the Group patrolling
round two miles away, ready to take over contact should Starling lose it.
He told Impey and Burn: “We will sit it out. I estimate this chap will
surface about midnight. Either his air or his batteries will run out by
then.” At two minutes past midnight on June 2nd, the air gave out in U-202
and Poser ordered: “Take her to the surface.”

Above, only the faint swish of water round the sloops disturbed the
penetrating silence as they waited. Without any audible warning, the
U-boat rose fast through the water and surfaced with her bows high in the
air where they hung momentarily before falling back into the water. The
crew leapt through the conning tower hatch to man the guns, and Poser
shouted for full speed in the hope of outrunning the hunters. On
Starling’s bridge, the tiny silver conning tower and the wash of water was
just visible in the moonlight as the U-boat broke surface. “Starshell . .
. commence.”
One turret spread the heavens with light, then came the crash and flash of
the Group’s first broadside laying a barrage of shells round the small
target. Through his binoculars, Burn could see a dull red glow leap from
behind the conning tower. The night became alive with flames and tracer
bullets streaming towards the stricken U-boat as it twisted violently in
the agony of death. A signal lamp blinked from Starling and the barrage
ceased while Walker increased speed to ram. The ship trembled under
increased power, heeled over and rushed towards the riddled enemy now
lying stopped and enveloped in coarse red smoke. The range closed and they
could see the jagged stump of the conning tower. Evidently the U-boat was
too crippled to escape, so Walker altered course slightly and ran
alongside, raking her decks with machine gun fire and firing a shallow
pattern of depth charges which straddled the submarine and covered her in
a cloud of smoke and spray as they rumbled and cracked around her. When
the heaving seas had subsided, she could be seen settling slowly down with
waves pouring over her conning tower and her crew running frantically
along the decks, their shouts and screams mingling with the cheers of
Starling’s own feverishly excited company. Three high explosive shells had
torn great holes in U-202’s foredeck, more hits had sliced jaggedly
through her conning tower and fifteen of her crew lay dead or dying at
their action stations. Poser clutched the periscope column, pulled a
revolver from his pocket and gave his last order. “Abandon ship . . .
abandon ship.” The cry was taken up and passed through the U-boat. Poser
turned to say good-bye to his officers. Rather than be captured he was
prepared to take his own life. But two of his officers had panicked under
the hail of shellfire and, anticipating his order, were already swimming
fast from the danger area with a group of sailors who were all crying out
for help furiously, Poser threw away his revolver and cursing under his
breath decided to be taken prisoner so that one day, when Germany had won
the war, he could have the satisfaction of seeing his two defecting
officers court-martialled.

Walker Rescues U Boat Sailors

By 12.30 am the battle was over and the survivors picked up, two officers
and sixteen men in Starling, two officers and ten men in Wild Goose. The
first three to scramble up the nets dangling over Starling’s side were
stopped when they reached the guard rail and asked the name of their
captain and the number of the U-boat. They refused to answer. When this
was reported to Walker, he said: “Don’t let them come aboard, Number One.
And tell them they cannot be picked up until they have given the
information we want.” The three survivors were ordered back into the water
where they shouted and screamed for mercy while Filleul, who was in charge
of rescue operations, shrugged and repeated the questions. Starling was
moving slowly away until one lost his nerve and cried out: “Kapitan Poser,
U-boat 202.” He was still
sobbing out the reply when they were picked up again, blue with cold.
Fifteen minutes later, the scuttling charges in U-202 exploded and,
rolling from side to side, the boat which had escaped destruction within
yards of the United States coastline, went to her grave in the middle of
the Atlantic. She would break up long before reaching the bottom five
miles below. Later that morning one of Surgeon-Lieutenant Fraser’s
patients died and Walker ordered a burial at sea with full honours. In his
view, he could take any measures he wished to destroy the enemy in as
effective manner as possible and, if Germans lost their lives
unnecessarily, they became victims of their own “total” war. But once the
battle was over, he treated prisoners correctly. And a dead German, being
also a good one, was entitled to be buried with the ceremony his gallantry
deserved. After the funeral service, Starling hoisted the time-honoured
signal for a naval victory at sea. “Second Support Group splice the
mainbrace.”

They began moving
eastwards on June 5 and finally reached Liverpool four days later. Walker
was particularly pleased. His Group was the first to return to harbour
with a “kill”. He had been able to indoctrinate his ships with the team
spirit he believed in so passionately and in his own ships he had seen the
various fighting departments operate cohesively and efficiently. The guns
crews were especially delighted because both Walker and the First
Lieutenant seemed to place more value on the asdic and depth charges than
the guns, which they thought to be noisy gadgets. In fact, both made it
only too clear that as anti-submarine experts they considered that depth
charges were the main armament of the ship rather than guns. This had
proved dispiriting to the gunnery team, consisting of the largest number
of men in the ship, but the sinking of U-202 had shown that the skill of
the asdic operators in holding the target for nearly fifteen hours and the
combined depth-charge attacks of the whole Group had not been enough to
cripple the enemy. For that, they had been forced to call upon the guns to
provide the broadsides. Eilleen had been told of Johnnie’s successes by
Captain (D), Liverpool, and wanted to join in the celebrations when the
sloops returned to harbour, but three days before their return she was
taken to a nursing home for an emergency operation. Within an hour of
docking, Johnnie came to her bedside with flowers and a bottle of
champagne. Other patients joined them in a toast and the bedside
celebration lost nothing of its gaiety. Meanwhile, Timmy had sailed from
Liverpool to join the
submarine Parthian, then operating in the Mediterranean, fate
ironically decreeing that father and son should serve together, one with
the hunters and the other with the hunted.

HM Submarine Parthian
Tim Walker

CHAPTER 9 - CREEPING ATTACK

Many of the sailors who manned the Second Support Group had never seen
action until the night of June 1st/2nd; others had been in action against
aircraft only. All had gone into the battle against U-202 certain that the
unseen enemy would strike swiftly and disastrously. Now these fears had
been banished forever. An exhilarating keenness to get to grips with the
enemy again swept the Group. Walker’s lecture on “Leadership” earlier that
year had included the phrase: “Don’t forget that, in a real emergency, the
sailor will always look up to the bridge to see how the skipper is taking
it.” Throughout June 1st, the Group had been able to see just that. He had
stayed on Starling’s bridge for the entire hunt, controlling and directing
each attack by signal and loud-hailer. They had seen his grin at every
failure; at times they had cursed his unconcern in keeping speeds so low
that they were mostly sitting ducks for a torpedo, and they had yearned
for a chance to quit the area fast before darkness increased the danger.
Now they identified themselves with Walker. The “he” had become “we”, and
there was something of Walker in every sailor of the Group who strutted
confidently ashore in Liverpool taking the greatest pains to ensure that
everyone knew he was serving in the Second Support Group. Nicholas was
spending a few days’ leave at home and Gillian was expecting to be called
up into the Wrens any day. In the mornings, Walker would accompany his
wife on various shopping expeditions round Liverpool and spend the rest of
the day with Captain (D) and members of the Commander- in-Chief’s staff in
the Operations Room at Derby House. In March, it had become apparent that
Doenitz was planning a large-scale spring offensive in the Atlantic. This
had been greeted sombrely in the House of Commons when Mr. Churchill,
referring to demands for a Second Front, had stood before the Dispatch Box
to warn: “The defeat of the U-boat must be the prelude to all effective
aggressive operations by the Allies.”

By June, Naval Intelligence experts were able to strike a cheerful if
cautious note in their secret survey for the first time since the war
began. “Historians of this war,” said the report, “are likely to single
out the months of April and May, 1943, as the critical period during which
the strength began to ebb away from the U-boat offensive. For the first
time, U-boats failed to press home attacks when favourably placed to do
so. Morale and efficiency are delicate and may wither rapidly if no longer
nourished by rich success. “May was black for the U-boats. Sinkings
probably averaged nearly one a day.” In a hurriedly added appendix after a
quick analysis of the sinking of U-202, the survey continued: “This hunt,
during which continuous contact was held with the U-boat for more than
fourteen hours is a complete vindication of the existing asdic equipment
when operated by a well-trained team. The U-boat employed every known
tactic while endeavouring to break Starling’s contact and fired SBTs
regularly, none of which succeeded in misleading the team.”
(Admiralty Intelligence Surveys). Following
this analysis, the Commander-in-Chief, Sir Max Horton, congratulated
Walker on the “most outstanding performance of the war”.
(Western Approaches War Diary). The Group
learned several weeks later that the propaganda departments at Whitehall
had not missed the significance of the whittling down of the U-boat
offensive. They drew up a leaflet which was dropped in thousands over
Germany by Bomber Command, giving an unmistakable message. “Two thousand
U-boat men are now prisoners of war in Britain. But for every prisoner of
war, five more U-boat men have died. Life insurance companies in neutral
countries estimate the average life of a German U-boat sailor at fifty
days. These U-boats have become swimming coffins and now Hitler wants you
to join them. If you do, you can look forward to the fastest, and often
the most horrible, death in the German armed forces.” It was hoped,
perhaps vainly, that this would lead to a marked reluctance on the part of
German youth to serve in the U-boat Arm. The German Navy attempted to
counter by saying how frightened Britain had become by the U-boat attacks
in the Atlantic.

“Germany’s enemies,” they announced triumphantly, “are calling for a
Doenitz to combat the U-boat menace. The name Doenitz is a fanfare for the
German Navy, but spells terror and horror for the enemy.” But the only
“terror and horror” apparent in Liverpool was the desire of Walker and his
Group to sail again as soon as possible. Derby House and the Admiralty,
where new hope was already surging through all levels up to Their
Lordships, and from this august body of leaders to the War Cabinet itself,
were only too ready to comply with Walker’s requests. They divided the Bay
of Biscay into two operational areas, code- named “Musketry” and “Seaslug”,
and published an international warning to neutrals to keep their ships
clear. It was thought that the Germans might counter by sailing supply
ships across the Bay under neutral flags. Meanwhile, Coastal Command had
established daily Sunderland and Catalina flying boat patrols over the Bay
to keep outward bound U-boats submerged, thereby taking longer and using
more valuable fuel to reach the Atlantic convoy routes. These tactics made
it imperative to send surface units into the area to hunt and kill the
enemy before he could reach the Atlantic deepfield. This would mean close
air-sea co-operation, but at least the pilots would know that ships were
around to pick up aircrew survivors. On June 17th Starling led the Group
to sea again, bound for “Musketry”, the Biscayan approaches to the
principal U-boat bases of Lorient and Bordeaux on the first combined
air-sea attempt to bring the battle of the Atlantic to a quick and
decisive end by cutting the enemy’s operation routes and nailing him to
his own doorstep. The Group, less Cygnet which had been transferred to
another force, entered “Musketry” on June 23rd and commenced sweeping
southward in line abreast two miles apart at fifteen knots, with Starling
in the centre. This first day, sunlit and calm, was spent in smoothing out
the teething troubles of liaison with Coastal Command. Enthusiastic flying
boat pilots came “on the air” with reports of U-boats ahead, astern and
either side of the Group until Walker was mentally tossing a coin to
decide which to chase. These mad dashes around the Bay at full speed
revealed old barrels, bits of rotting wreckage and tidal swirls, but no
U-boats. It became apparent that aircraft flying high and at the mercy of
the wind and weather mistook almost every speck for a U-boat and gave
positions which provided the Group navigators with perpetual headaches.
One pilot reported himself circling over a U-boat in a position which not
only took the Group off their charts but would have landed them miles to
the north of Paris. Obviously, there was room for improvement, though for
the moment keenness was enough.

In Starling, the crew became loudly anti-Coastal Command with choice
selections of descriptive threats of what they would do to those “ruddy
amateurs up there”. By nightfall, the number of false alarms had reduced
them to a state of resignation and, unable to stand the clanging alarm
bells every few minutes, the crew resigned themselves to the inevitable
and slept at their action stations. At 8 am on the 24th Walker was in his
cabin below the bridge and Filleul was about to take a bath. Six minutes
later, the asdic operator reported a definite submarine echo about 1000
yards ahead accompanied by loud inexplicable whistling noises. The Officer
of the Watch called Walker who, after a quick look round, decided to
attack without further investigation. He warned the Group by signal to
keep clear, and increased speed. Alarm bells brought the crew to
readiness, and depth charges were set to explode at 150 and 300 feet. In
the officers’ bathroom, Filleul whose action station was in charge of
depth charges, tied a towel round his waist and rushed to the quarter
deck. Twelve minutes later, Starling raced over the attacking position and
ten depth charges exploded in a series of crashing roars in her wake.
Subsequent events startled the Group so much that Walker wrote in his
Battle Report: “The wretched U-boat surfaced astern with dramatic
suddenness as the last roar of the detonating charges died away. For the
enemy to surface in the exact spot where the eyes of the whole Group were
concentrated, at the first conceivable moment after the pattern was fired,
produced such a copybook result that one felt momentarily a sense of
disbelief that this was happening.” Their astonishment did not prevent the
Group opening up on the enemy with a broadside and loud, rending crashes
punctuated the roar of guns as shell after shell exploded redly against
the U-boat’s hull. She was still capable of full surface speed, however,
and tried to make a run for it. Walker called out to the Yeoman: “Tell the
Group to cease firing. I’m going to ram.” He ordered full speed and warned
the engine room staff to stand by for the impact. At this moment a stray
shot from one of the ships exploded against Starling’s bows, blowing off
the bull-ring, a large circular steel ring through which ropes and wires
are fed when tying up in harbour. Walker blinked in some amazement but was
concentrating on the enemy. As they drew near, smoke could be seen pouring
from the U-boat’s conning tower and she was already seeming to settle in
the water. She was still battened down and no attempt was being made to
abandon her. For some reason, her captain thought he could still escape.
Starling struck the enemy just abreast the conning tower. Her bows had
risen on a swell and she came down on the U-boat rather than hitting it
square. The sloop shuddered under the impact and her crew yelled their
cheers as she started to crawl over her victim which could be seen rolling
slowly under the keel like some gigantic grey slug.

After the collision, Filleul, the towel flapping about his bare legs,
watched the U-boat, upside down with her keel scraping Starling’s side,
approach the propellers. He ordered a pattern of charges to be set at
their shallowest depths and gave the order: “Fire.” They rumbled over the
stern and shot from throwers as Starling drew clear of the writhing enemy
and began to gather speed again. But she was still not quite clear when
the charges exploded to give the U-boat her death blow and shatter every
light in Starling. To make quite sure, Woodpecker raced over the same spot
still close to Starling and gave the U-boat “one for luck”, a pattern of
charges which, had it still been floating, would have smashed it into
pieces. There was no hope that anyone could have survived that attack.
Walker wrote later: “I sent Starling’s whaler away to collect wreckage and
the boat soon produced ample evidence that this particular U-boat had been
gathered to his fathers. Locker doors and other floating wreckage marked
in German, a burst tin of coffee and some walnuts were soon gathered. My
Starling had not come through the rough house unscathed. The friendly
crack on the nose from somebody’s gunnery team was taken in good part, but
in addition, her beak was bent 30 degrees to starboard, the asdic gone and
the for’ard magazines flooded.” One of the Group, taking the blame for
knocking off Starling’s bull-ring, sent a signal of apology. Walker
replied: “No harm done. Just a clout on the snout.” Wild Goose and Wren
had meanwhile stumbled across the U-boat’s mate and were already pounding
him with depth charges to prevent any attack on the stopped and
defenceless Starling. It was by then nearly 10 am and Walker ordered the
Group in to attack in turn. Wren carried out two attacks, Woodpecker
followed, then Wild Goose and Kite finished up. There was no result, and
the ships formed up for their next attacks. Wild Goose led off and the
roar and rumble of crashing depth charges split the summer’s morning as
Kite, Woodpecker and Wren followed. Nothing happened and, despite repeated
signalled assertions that they were still in contact, Walker was nearly
dancing with rage on the bridge of Starling. At one point he astonished
his crew by throwing his cap to the deck and stamping on it with impotent
fury, mostly pretended, but soon he was grinning again as a new thought
struck him. He had absolute confidence in his commanding officers but his
love of a good fight was stronger. He ordered the Yeoman: “Tell the Group
to hold the contact and to cease attacking. Then tell Wild Goose to stop
near me and prepare to exchange commanding officers.” His excuse was that
“the position was getting out of hand. Ships were getting in each other’s
way and it appeared they were attacking two separate contacts due, I
think, to the presence of SBTs.”

When Wild Goose had steered nearly alongside he chatted to Commander
Wemyss as though they were at a tea party. “Want you to take over
Starling, Dickie, and take her home to Plymouth; she will just about make
it. I’ll come aboard Wild Goose and take command during your absence.
Probably meet you in Plymouth. Incidentally, I’m damn sure you chaps have
been attacking SBTs” The reply was non-committal, as one might expect from
a commanding officer who had been interrupted in the middle of a battle
and was now being sent home with a ship which might easily sink under him.
With one U-boat already making her last plunge to the bottom, another less
than a mile away being given a temporary respite in the middle of the Bay
of Biscay known to be alive with U-boats and within range of the enemy’s
fighter aircraft, Captain Walker was ceremoniously piped over Starling’s
side as he climbed down a rope ladder into the whaler. The crews of Wild
Goose and Starling lined their decks and cheered wildly as the tiny boat
was pulled across the gap to Wild Goose with Walker sitting calmly in the
stern. After a few minutes, he was piped aboard Wild Goose and Commander
Wemyss was being pulled back to Starling. On Wild Goose’s bridge Walker
muttered “Good morning” to the officers and men and said: “Signal the
Group: Let the battle resume. I will pick up contact and direct your
attacks.” He waved across to Starling and, as she moved off slowly,
signalled: “To Starling from Captain Walker: Good-bye my gallant Starling.
God be with you.” He found the situation not as out of hand as he had
thought. Wren was in contact, and Walker reformed the Group for an attack
method he had devised while watching the earlier manoeuvres from Starling.
He now gained contact in Wild Goose and ordered the Group to stand by for
a “creeping attack”. On their hydrophones U-boats could hear the fast
revving propellers of an attacker and might take avoiding action. Also,
they could hear the asdic impulses on the hulls of their boats and, as
these became more rapid, might safely assume that a ship was approaching
for an attack. If, however, the asdic impulses were regular the U-boat was
likely to believe she was not yet coming under depth-charge attack.
Therefore, Walker’s plan was to hold contact himself at a range of about
2,000 yards and direct other ships of the Group on to the target at a
speed of not more than five knots. This would mean that the U-boat would
know nothing about an attack until depth charges, set to 500 feet and
deeper, exploded suddenly around her. However, should a faulty depth
charge detonate too soon the slow-moving ships would be in danger of
having their sterns blown off.

Walker pointed Wild Goose at the target and called in Wren to steam slowly
past him under his directions. As she came level, he shouted his
instructions over the loudhailer. She was to move directly between himself
and the target, 1000 yards ahead of Wild Goose, and proceed dead ahead at
five knots. He would instruct her over the R/T, how and when to drop her
charges. Wren crept stealthily into the direct line of attack and moved
forward while Wild Goose kept the echo at a steady range and bearing. When
Wren reached the same range and bearing as the U-boat, he called out on
R/T: “Fire a deep pattern and then continue dropping charges set to
maximum depth at five second intervals.” They watched Wren quiver under
the impact of the explosions. Nothing came up. The first “creeping attack”
had failed. Walker called up Kite and Woodpecker and they set off in line
abreast for an “Operation Plaster” barrage attack, dropping more than
fifty charges in the next few minutes. He then ordered Kite and Wren to
approach slowly for another attack. It is doubtful if the U-boat’ ever
knew what hit her. (Confirmed as U-449) By
the wreckage that came bubbling up to the surface it looked as if she must
have disintegrated under the blast of the charges from ships she could not
have heard coming. Oil spread over the area, and Wren lowered a boat to
investigate and pick up evidence of destruction to be forwarded to the
Admiralty. It was then nearly 4 pm, and Walker took Wild Goose into the
centre of the oil to see what they could find in the way of trophies.
While leaning over the side of the bridge, the sailors nearest to Walker
heard a loud rending noise come from the vicinity of his seat. They burst
into scarcely-controlled giggles at the large hole that had appeared in
his trousers. When he looked round startled and realised what had happened
he collapsed in loud laughter. In his report of the action he wrote: “In
my eagerness to view some of the wreckage floating nearby I split, most
indecently, the only pair of trousers I had brought with me from
Starling.” Making little more than eight knots, Starling was still in
sight. Walker signalled the Group his now familiar “splice the mainbrace”
and detached Kite to escort Starling back to Plymouth. The remainder of
the patrol is best described by Walker’s personal record:

“During the night Wild Goose, Woodpecker and Wren proceeded in line
abreast carrying out independent zigzags and searched at twelve knots.
After the swift moving events of the forenoon and a second, if less
dramatic success, while the sun was still high, the dark hours produced
only an anti-climax. Nothing was seen of a U-boat and if any had been
there to provide a hat trick to crown the splendour of this Midsummer’s
Day, it passed peacefully on its way outside the range of the reduced but
no less bloodthirsty Second Support Group. “On June 12th, Kite rejoined
us, having handed over the safety of my Starling to a Hunt class destroyer
sent from Plymouth, and immediately reported a periscope. Our hopes
stirred but she soon dashed them by amending her report saying the
periscope was the horn of a floating mine. Nothing exciting happened in
the next two days and we set sail for Plymouth.” Meanwhile, the weather
favoured the crippled Starling who arrived in Plymouth safely, the shouts
and laughter of bathers in front of the Hoe reaching the men lined up on
the tilting decks. Some bathers could be seen standing up and shading
their eyes as they stared curiously at the odd-looking ship with her
flooded bows buried deep in the water and her stern sticking grotesquely
into the air. From the Commander- in-Chief’s flagstaff ashore flew the
signal: “Well done, Second Support Group.” When at last they tied up
alongside a jetty, she was immediately overrun by officials equipped with
the largest water pumps they could find, apparently under the impression
that Starling was about to sink at any minute. The officers led by Filleul,
Burn and “Doc” Fraser headed for the nearest pub. On their return to the
jetty, “Doc” acknowledged the salute of a naval patrol and promptly
tripped in a pothole, falling flat on his face. He was the Group’s only
casualty in the first blockade of the Biscayan ports. On June 3 Wild
Goose, Wren, Woodpecker and Kite entered Plymouth harbour and tied up near
Starling. From then on the dockyard superintendents were to have the full
weight of Walker’s rank and energy to have Starling ready for sea within a
month. Meanwhile, the First Sea Lord, Commander-in-Chief; Western
Approaches, and Commander-in-Chief; Plymouth, had sent signals saying much
in few words: “Well done again, Second Support Group.” At a special
conference held by Admiral Sir Charles Forbes in Plymouth, Walker tended
to play down the Group’s success with the first U-boat. “This one,” he
said, “really rather deserved its fate. It did not even pay us the
compliment of going deep or taking any appreciable avoiding action. I
think we must have accidentally caught him with his pants down.” But, in a
letter to the Admiralty, Admiral Forbes said: “This was the first occasion
of a force of British vessels being sent into the Bay of Biscay itself.
Much valuable experience was gained and the successes of the Second
Support Group have made this strategy undoubtedly worthwhile.” Starling
could look forward to a spell in harbour under repair. Walker was
impatient, however, to strike again in the Bay before the enemy could
change his tactics. He stayed in Wild Goose, leaving Commander Wemyss to
supervise the healing of Starling’s wounds. Only three days after
returning from the first blockade trip, the Group went to sea for the
second time.